White canvas blown taut in an evening breeze, sailboatsslide across the
daughter almost literally holding the fort.
They occupy the third floor of an elderly
house. The kitchen windows look out on a
devastated landscape of brick piles, black
ened, snow-streaked lots filled with rubble,
and broken streets.
"You see the building there to the left,"
Danny said. "It burned last Friday night.
They evacuated us at 5 a.m. because the
378
sparks were flying onto our roof here. That
building is privately owned. We have had
eight fires in the path of the renewal since
summer. That is too many for accident. We
suspect arson."
Like so many other things in the South
End, the event reminded me of Mary Antin,
who wrote so movingly in The PromisedLand:
"While the great can speak for themselves
National Geographic,September 1974